Just Guy Stuff
by FFcrazy15
Summary: The Pervert and the Tough Guy. Personas that keep them sane. It's not easy for our boys to drop their masks, but when your brother's feeling low, well, even they can be vulnerable for a few minutes to help out a friend. Inuyasha & Miroku friendship fic. T for cursing.
1. Chapter 1: The Pervert

Just Guy Stuff

Summary: The Pervert and the Tough Guy. Personas that keep them sane. It's not easy for our boys to drop their masks, but when your brother's in trouble, well, even Inuyasha can be vulnerable for a few minutes to help his friend out. Inuyasha & Miroku friendship fic.

Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the InuYasha universe, nor the rights to any of the affiliated merchandise or creative works thereof, nor do I profit from this work produced here.

A/N: As a note: Inuyasha's getting flustered during his talk with Kagome is not at all meant to be a jab towards anyone; I'm just trying to write in character. I'll be happy to discuss my opinions on the matter in a PM, but as far as the story goes I just wanted to establish the relationship as purely friendship.

Warnings: cursing.

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 **犬夜叉**

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Inuyasha was not a man known for his apologies, or for admitting that he was wrong. It just wasn't his way. He had his pride, and dammit, he was gonna keep it; after all, for a long time, he hadn't had much else.

Although in this case, he was willing to make an exception.

He had to admit, the hanyou mused as he watched his kasaya-robed friend carry over a gathered bundle of sticks to make their noonday fire, his first impressions of the monk had been dead wrong. Well, not entirely– Miroku was still a conman, and _absolutely_ still a lecher. But even with that last, Inuyasha was pretty sure that Miroku's debauchery was just a way for the monk to distract himself. _After all,_ he thought absently to himself, _if I had the sort of doom hangin' over my head that he does, I'd probably have a couple'a "unsavory" habits, too._ And for all his faults, Miroku didn't much approve of drunkenness– probably from growing up with an incurable alcoholic, the hanyou reasoned– so women it would be.

Either way, Miroku wasn't _just_ a lecher, and Inuyasha would go so far as to say that his good traits far outweighed his bad ones. The monk was a damn good fighter, quick on his feet and stronger than he looked. He took pain like a man and usually gave back as good as he got, circumstances permitting, and never ran from a fight if his friends were in danger. On top of that, when he actually bothered to employ his spiritual powers, Inuyasha grudgingly had to admit that he was a good exorcist (a fact evinced by the unpleasant little jolt the half-demon got whenever he accidentally touched one of the monk's inactive sutras. Shippo, after having gotten blasted back three feet and his hair and fingertips singed after curiously poking one, wisely avoided them like the plague.)

Moreover, as far as personality went, even the wary hanyou couldn't help but like the guy. Miroku was smart, good-natured, and loyal to a fault when it came to the important stuff. He was also a great leader. Inuyasha wasn't stupid; sure, he might be the one to take charge during battle, but when it came to anything that required long-term planning, such as where to go on their travels or a strategic infiltration, Miroku inevitably had the last word. To be honest, the hanyou was relieved; he'd spent so many years trying to figure out where to go and what to do that having someone to follow was a weight off his shoulders. And aside from all that, the monk was a pretty decent guy, always up for a good time and (not that Inuyasha would ever admit it) good at getting his half-demon companion out of a sullen mood.

Apparently his appreciation for the monk hadn't gone unnoticed, for some time previous Kagome had mentioned it while doing the group's washing down by the river:

"So, you and Miroku have really hit it off, huh?"

"Hn?" The hanyou glanced over from where he was lying down against the hill. "Oh, yeah, sure. He's a great guy."

"I'm glad. I didn't think you two were going to get along at first, so it's nice to see you being so affectionate!"

Inuyasha immediately sat up, face pinking. "Oy, don't say it like that!"

"Eh? Like what?"

"Like– that! It sounds– it just–"

Kagome looked back, startled, and then began giggling at his flustered expression. "Oh, Inuyasha!"

Inuyasha scowled, sure he was being made fun of. "What're you laughing at?"

"All I meant is that you're friends!" She smiled and added: "When I said _affectionate,_ I meant the way Sango and I are. You know– like brothers-in-arms."

"Keh. Whatever." Still, Inuyasha had liked the idea. He had no idea how brothers were supposed to act (seeing as how Sesshomaru was such an insufferable ass), but he thought that maybe Miroku's practical joking (and occasional imparting of wise advice) was the sort of thing brothers did. It was nice, he'd decided. He'd never really had friends before, and as much as he liked Kagome and Sango, there were some things you just couldn't talk about to girls. (Or to kids. Shippo was a decent kit, but he had the attention span of a freakin' butterfly.)

As a result, he and Miroku had ended up spending a good amount of time together, and had gotten to know each other pretty well. Which was why Inuyasha was able to notice the moment something went wrong.

It happened just as Miroku was helping Shippo light the fire. The kit had screwed up his little face, frowning at the twigs as he summoned his foxfire and cast it at the wood. Just as he did so, Inuyasha's heightened senses picked up a sudden hissing, and some of the flame was drawn away from the fire and towards either side of Miroku's purple gauntlet.

The monk immediately yanked his hand back and pressed it into his stomach, face paling like a sheet. Shippo was looking at him, startled; no doubt he, too, had heard the sudden gust of unnatural wind on the still spring day. Inuyasha glanced over to where Sango and Kagome were preparing the fish; neither had looked over, still chatting and laughing as they worked, their weak human hearing having kept them blissfully ignorant.

"Miroku?" Shippo inquired nervously, but the monk merely cleared his throat and stood.

"Nature's calling," he said quickly, with a very fake smile. "Back in a bit."

He walked off towards the nearby forest and disappeared into the trees. Inuyasha watched him go, a worried frown creasing his brow. Something wasn't right.

"I'm gonna go look for mushrooms," he announced to the girls. "Saw a patch back along the road that were edible."

"Don't take too long," Kagome called over her shoulder. "The fire will be hot enough to cook with soon!"

"Keh." Too mentally preoccupied to come up with a better answer, the hanyou headed off in a slightly different direction than Miroku so as not to worry the girls. Once he was safely out of sight, he switched direction, following his nose as he searched for the monk.

It didn't take him long to find him, but when he did, Inuyasha stopped short in surprise.

Miroku was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a small clearing, staring at his right hand. That wasn't particularly unusual; the unusual part of it was that his hand wasn't covered. The beads were still in place, their spiritual power saturating the wind tunnel's devouring hunger, but the purple gauntlet had been untied from its ring and pulled back.

Inuyasha watched in a sort of horrified fascination as Miroku gently prodded the edge of the wind tunnel with his left-hand fingers, as if testing to make sure it hadn't split open anywhere along the sides. Then, almost as if in a trance, the monk carefully pushed aside the beads just enough to reach his fingers into the abyss.

The hanyou had seen a lot of guts and gore in his day, but somehow seeing those three fingers vanish without pushing through the other side of Miroku's hand was enough to make him turn and dry-heave into the undergrowth. Thankfully nothing came up, but by the time he was able to stifle the nausea, Miroku had noticed. Horrified, the monk quickly redid the ties of his purple gauntlet and clenched his fist shut, watching his friend with thinly veiled fear.

Inuyasha looked back, unsure what to say; he wasn't really good with this stuff. The first thing that came to his mind, and therefore his mouth, was: "Bloody hell, Miroku, what the fuck are you doing?"

The monk stammered wordlessly for several seconds until he managed to come up with the altogether unsatisfactory answer of: "I-I'm fine."

"The hell you are." Inuyasha paced forward and sat down opposite the monk, glaring at him until Miroku dropped his gaze. "It's the wind tunnel, ain't it? Some of it got past the beads?"

The monk was silent for a long moment, and then nodded.

"You think they're gonna hold?"

"Oh, they'll hold," the monk said, with a very strange, humorless laugh. "Don't worry, I'd be long gone by now if I thought there was any chance they wouldn't."

Inuyasha nodded. He opened his mouth to ask something and then shut it again.

"I don't know," Miroku replied dully. Inuyasha started.

"Huh?"

"That's what you were going to ask, wasn't it? How long I've got?"

"U-uh–"

"Well, I don't know. It could be a few years, it could be a few months, but that's the best answer I've got and I'm sorry, but if it's good enough for me it'd damn well better be good enough for you!"

Inuyasha just blinked, baffled and startled. Miroku seemed to realize what he'd said and quickly shut his mouth, looking away. Neither spoke.

Wind. Chirping birds.

"…Fuck," the half-demon muttered at last. "You're really not okay, are you?"

Another moment of silence, and then Miroku shook his head, eyes on the ground.

"…Is there anythin' I can, y'know…?"

"Do?" The monk let out a choked laugh. "Thank you, Inuyasha, but believe me when I say that there's nothing _anyone_ can _do."_ He looked down at his hand with a lost darkness in his indigo eyes, and for the first time, the hanyou realized just how young the man in front of him really was.

 _He's just eighteen, barely older than me. He's just a kid. Fuck, we're all just kids…_

It was unfair, the hanyou thought bitterly, this whole fucking situation was unfair. He voiced as much to Miroku, who laughed that unhappy laugh again and nodded.

"Sometimes, Inuyasha," Miroku muttered, "sometimes I wish there were… something else."

"Something else?"

"Something– higher. Not the gods; even the gods die. But something else, something real."

The hanyou stared at the monk, confused and not a little worried. He'd never heard Miroku talk like this.

"I know I'm a monk," Miroku continued, still in that strange, hoarse half-whisper, as if he could only admit this low enough that the sky couldn't hear. "I know I should– should be seeking nirvana. But I'm terrified." His cursed hand clenched into an even tighter fist. "Inuyasha, I've _found_ nirvana. It's here, in my hand. It's nothingness and loneliness and _cessation_ and– and I know, I know it's my attachment to self that makes me so damn _terrified,_ but I can't help it, dammit, I want to live! Is that such a sin, to want to live?!"

He broke down at that– not into tears, never that, but one sharp gasp like a man who'd gotten his head above water for an instant. His face, his hands, even his neck was filled with a muscle-aching tension, jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing out like iron cords beneath his pale skin. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly, tersely, eyes still fixed with a feverish gleam on something the hanyou couldn't see. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

He made to stand, wanting to get out, away back to the girls where he had an obligation to pretend everything was okay– but then, a voice stopped him:

"I wanna live too."

Miroku looked back, startled. Inuyasha was watching him, and for the first time, the monk realized that he wasn't the only one wearing a mask. The half-demon's golden eyes were wide, and afraid.

"And I'm scared," Inuyasha said, standing to look him in the eyes. "I'm scared, Miroku, I'm scared as shit because I know that bastard's coming for me, and Kagome, and you and Sango and even little Shippo and– and I can't lose anyone else, I can't."

"Inuyasha…"

"And I can't promise you that it's all gonna be okay," the hanyou continued, "because I don't know that it will. But– but for what it's worth, we're all scared. I know Kagome's scared because she's been practicing her shooting every day, she never used to do that; I know Sango's scared because I hear her crying at night when she thinks no one's awake; and I know Shippo's scared because he prays at every Inari shrine we stop by, every single one."

Miroku felt guilt churn in his stomach. "I know. I'm sorry, Inuyasha, I didn't mean to imply– I know I haven't got it any worse than anyone else–"

"Wh– shit, no, that's not what I meant. Agh." The half-demon sighed and ran a hand through his silver hair, trying to find the right words. "What I meant is– is you're not alone. We're all here, stuck in this together, and you're– you're not alone, okay? We're still here with you. Y'haven't hit nirvana yet."

 _Not yet._ A strange rush of calm swept through Miroku at that; he suddenly saw and heard everything again– the green dappled light shining through the trees, the chirping of unseen birds hidden in the branches. He was still here, still alive, still standing in this forest speaking to his best friend. He hadn't been pulled into the void. _Not yet. Not yet._

It wasn't the sort of thing that needed any further discussion; Inuyasha saw the black panic leave his friend's eyes, and he stepped forward, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Y'okay now?"

Miroku nodded wordlessly; without needing to ask, the two pulled each other in and embraced like brothers. A shuddering breath escaped the monk, and Inuyasha clapped him on the back, stepping away. Miroku gave him a wry smile.

"Thank you. For pulling me back from the edge, I mean."

"Just don't think you gotta carry that all yourself, a'right?" Inuyasha said sincerely, a little pink at the cheeks– he didn't do emotions well, but Miroku understood and nodded. "C'mon. Kagome's making ramen; I can smell it from here."

They walked back together, making light conversation in place of their ordinary silence, aware that each needed a chance to forget the dark thoughts that could so easily consume them.

They were laughing by the time they got back to the camp– their chuckles a little forced, perhaps, but still present. Kagome and Sango looked up at them surprised. "What were you two talking about in there?" Sango demanded, eying the monk suspiciously.

Inuyasha and Miroku glanced at each other. Miroku's eyes had gone wide and nervous; it was clear to the hanyou that he wasn't prepared to answer any questions.

So Inuyasha merely shrugged and replied, "Eh, you know." He walked over to the bubbling pot of noodles and added breezily:

"Just guy stuff."

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 **A/N: So what did you guys think? I really wanted to write a oneshot on the friendship between Miroku and Inuyasha, because I think it's a really cool aspect of the series that doesn't get enough attention. I'm (spoiler alert) not a guy, so I have no idea if I wrote this right as to how two men would interact, but I think I was pretty close.**

 **Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Tough Guy

Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the InuYasha universe, nor the rights to any of the affiliated merchandise or creative works thereof, nor do I profit from this work produced here.

Warnings: cursing.

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It took Inuyasha more than a week to snap.

It had been ten days since the incident in the village. Miroku had taken to thinking of it that way, as _"the incident."_ Remembering it in full detail was stomach-churning. As a monk he believed in protecting all human life whenever possible; seeing his own friend destroy it, even in the form of such scum as those bandits, was unsettling to the man of the cloth. Despite their iniquities, he had buried the slain bandits himself after Inuyasha had all but fled the scene, and chanted prayers for their souls. He had prayed for his friend, too. It was all he had been able to do.

Inuyasha, it seemed, did not share his disquiet—or at least, he insisted that he saw nothing wrong with what he'd done. Miroku might almost have believed him, if he hadn't seen the warring expression in the hanyou's golden eyes whenever Inuyasha thought no one was watching. It was, Miroku thought ruefully, the expression of a tortured philosopher. To Inuyasha, the matter of what he had done while under the influence of his father's blood was an unsolvable question, with thunderous implications: the bandits had deserved to die, and yet…

And yet.

He was still so young, Miroku reflected late one night as he sat the watch, eyes closed and idly making his way through the sutras chanted on his blue mala beads. His friend was only fifteen years of age, even younger than himself, and yet Miroku knew that he had lived a sheltered life compared to his half-demon companion. Inuyasha had seen hunger and hardship, fought for his very existence from a young age. Those were trials Miroku had never known, and it inspired respect in him for the man whom the girls seemed to think of as rather immature. Immature, yes, the monk mused, but then, who wasn't immature at fifteen?

There was a rustle in the trees; his eyes flicked upwards, broken from his reverie, and realized that the shadow of russet in the light of the dying fire was gone, leaving only the dull red edges of the leaves in his stead. Surprised, the monk stood. He'd assumed that Inuyasha had fallen asleep, but the half-demon had left with so little a sound that Miroku realized the hanyou had probably been waiting for him to fall asleep on-watch; with his eyes closed and breathing slowed by meditation, it was an easy mistake to make. He cast one glance backwards towards the sleeping women and child, hesitated, and then followed his friend into the darkness of the surrounding wood.

Ten minutes passed with no sign of the half-demon. The forrest was very dark, full of deep shadows, but with a million stars blazing overhead; the moon had set some time ago, and without its light it was difficult for the monk to see. Miroku began to worry, his fear growing with each passing minute; what if Inuyasha had left to do himself some harm? He remembered with a chill that, despite having grown up more or less in the gutter, Inuyasha was a son of warrior blood; surely, he thought desperately as he quickened his step, trying not to trip over the brambles in the undergrowth, surely his friend would not take his own life over this dishonor? But he had seen the shame growing heavier with each passing day on his friend's shoulders, had noticed the hanyou become more and more reclusive, uncharacteristically silent; why, _why_ hadn't he done anything to help the man sooner?

Just as despair was near to overtaking him, the monk stumbled into a clearing and stopped. Several meters away from him, apparently ignorant to his arrival, sat a red-clad figure, alone in the darkness.

Inuyasha was… crying. Weeping, truly, with one arm propped against his knee and his forehead held in his hand as the soft sobs shook him. Miroku's brows furrowed in startled shock; he'd never seen Inuyasha cry before. There was something worse about the gentleness of it, something far more honest and sorrowful than it would have been had the weeping been violent.

He crept forward a step, and immediately regretted it when his foot trod upon a twig and snapped it in two. Inuyasha's ears flicked a mere instant before his head jerked up, whirling around in a flash of white hair and panicked yellow eyes. When they settled on the monk, his face drained of all blood. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other, each painfully aware that neither could pretend not to have seen.

Miroku was the first to move, realizing that he would have to be, and do so delicately, lest Inuyasha revert behind a wall of anger to hide his embarrassment. He cleared his throat gently, set down his sounding-staff and walked over to the half-demon, eyes politely fixed on the ground. Inuyasha watched him warily. "May I?" the monk inquired cordially, gesturing to the open ground.

"Um." It was a testament to how uncertain the half-demon was that he didn't come up with anything more eloquent for a few seconds, until stammering, "Uh, y-yeah. I guess."

Miroku did so, remaining silent for several moments as he tried to decide what to say. Inuyasha looked away.

"I won't tell Kagome," he settled on at last, very gently. The hanyou looked up, startled, and then the tension eased a little from his shoulders.

"…Th'nks," he mumbled, fidgeting with the edge of his red sleeve. Miroku nodded, just once, and then the two fell into silence again.

"…You don't have to talk," the monk said finally. "I… I can imagine it must be difficult right now." Inuyasha didn't meet his eyes. "But you should know, you're still… still welcome, with us. None of us want you to leave."

"Why?"

Miroku blinked. "What?"

"Why?" Inuyasha repeated lowly. "Why are you here, Miroku, why any of you? You're a monk, Kagome's a priestess, Sango's a bloody demon-slayer–!" His voice broke off and he stood up, pacing a few steps away but thankfully not fleeing, his back to the monk. "You… none of you should be here."

"Inuyasha–"

"I _murdered_ those people, Miroku," the voice spat back harshly. "It wasn't justice or self-defense. I slaughtered them for the pure pleasure of it." A shaking, clawed hand was raised in front of the hanyou's face, and he looked at it with a bitter smile. "Keh. Look at me. I'm a fucking mess."

"It wasn't your fault," the monk said quietly.

"The hell it wasn't." The hand dropped listlessly to his side. "You know, Miroku, sometimes…" His head tilted upwards, as if he were looking at something in the glittering stars that the monk couldn't see. "Sometimes, I really fucking hate being a half-demon."

Miroku tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He found that he had nothing he could say.

After a long moment, the hanyou turned and leaned against a tree, his face now in profile but still hidden in shadows as he mopped his eyes. "Y'know," he said roughly, "My whole life, people have been telling me that I don't deserve to exist. That I'd be doing the world a favor if I threw myself off a cliff."

"Inuyasha, that's not–"

"The hell it's not true!" He whirled around, and the monk felt his breath catch at the sight of the furious tears coursing down his friend's cheeks. "I'm defective, Miroku! I don't work! Without this damned sword I can snap and murder everyone in my path! Even you! Even Kagome, if it came to it!" He slammed his fist into the trunk of the nearest tree, causing the bark to buckle inwards. "Don't you get it? This, this is why Kikyo wanted me to be human! This is why Sesshomaru's been trying to kill me ever since I was born! Humans and demons don't mix, Miroku; things like me aren't supposed to exist!"

He glared one long moment, breathing hard, daring the Buddhist to challenge him. Then, the fire seemed to leech out of him as easily as it had come. He turned, resting his head against the fist on the tree, and let out a heavy sigh. "I killed them, Miroku," he mumbled. "I murdered helpless people, just for the fun of it. I'm no better than– than fucking _Naraku."_

"This wasn't your fault," Miroku repeated gently, rising to his feet. "You didn't want to kill those men, not in your right mind."

"But I did."

"You are not a bad man, Inuyasha. And I can prove it." The half-demon turned to look at him, golden eyes dull, but with a spark of hope. Miroku seized onto that hope with the grip of a drowning man to a rope. "I'm sure you know that people in feverish states can have vivid hallucinations, so vivid they even attack their loved ones?"

"That's not the same. That's a disease, this is… this is inside me."

"The power to do horrible things is inside all of us, Inuyasha. The difference is how we choose to act on it. You made no choice that day. Your hand was forced by a feverish state in which you, the true you, had no control. It could happen to any of us. It could happen to me. The fact that you are more susceptible to it does not make you responsible."

"But someone is going to get hurt," the half-demon croaked hoarsely. "Someday, one of you is going to get in my way and–"

"–And that's a chance we're willing to take," Miroku said firmly, setting his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You put up with our flaws and weaknesses. We're willing to put up with yours. That's what friends do."

A long silence passed. Inuyasha didn't meet his eyes. At alst, the hanyou sighed.

"…What if it had been Sango?"

Miroku blinked and felt his face go red. "W-what?" he stammered unconvincingly; it was no use. Inuyasha was notoriously bad at reading a woman's feelings, but he'd cottoned on right away that the monk had taken an interest in the demon-slayer that was more than pure lechery. For all of his bad habits, Miroku's friendship and care for Sango ran deep–too deep to consider her death with anything less than extreme distress.

A fact his friend was now using to his advantage. "What if it had been Sango?" Inuyasha repeated, his voice deadly quiet. He looked up with agony and apprehension in his eyes– the apprehension of a man about to lose everything. "You say that it's not my fault. If you mean that… what if it had been Sango's blood on my claws? Could you have forgiven me if I had slaughtered her?"

Miroku gaped a moment, stunned and half a breath from answering with anger: what the hell sort of question was that? Couldn't Inuyasha see he was trying to help? But the half-demon's gaze, though gleaming hard and bright with fear, never left his. And after a moment, Miroku understood. This was proof. Everything he had said, all of it– all of it had to be true, even in the most horrific of cases, or none of it was.

Inuyasha really was a lot smarter than he let on, the monk thought wryly.

He could not lie, not now. So he drew a deep breath through his nose and thought about it. Inuyasha watched as the monk's face flinched, no doubt picturing the gruesome death of his companion. But when Miroku's eyes refocused on the present, the half-demon knew that however he answered, it would be with honesty.

"Yes. If you had killed Sango today… I could have forgiven you. In fact, there would have been nothing to forgive."

Inuyasha stared a moment, stunned, and then let out a low sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension seeped out of his muscles. "Thank you, Miroku," he mumbled.

The monk smiled wryly. "What are friends for?"

Inuyasha nodded wordlessly, his eyes still fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, his shoulders began to quake under the monk's hand.

Miroku guided him to a fallen tree and tactfully looked the other way as Inuyasha pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed out broken sobs through his teeth. The monk didn't look at him, but kept his hand on his friend's shoulder. They didn't need further talk. In time, when his friend's grief was worn out and Inuyasha was wiping his eyes again on his red suikan, Miroku stood and offered his hand. Inuyasha accepted, flushed with embarrassment, and the human clapped the younger man on the shoulder in sympathy before they walked back to the camp.

By the time they returned, Inuyasha seemed to be in a better mood; he mumbled a low "goodnight" before leaping up into the tree and settling back against the trunk. Miroku smiled ruefully to himself and sat back down, taking one of his beads between his fingers.

A slight shifting to his side drew his attention; he looked over as Sango blinked her eyes open drowsily. "Oh, you're b-back," she whispered, yawning; ever the warrior, Miroku thought wryly, she must have noticed his absence and woken by instinct. "What were you two doing?"

"Oh– just talking," Miroku answered vaguely.

Sango gave him a suspicious look. "About?"

"Ah, well, you know." He hesitated, and then shrugged and gave her a suggestive wink. "Just guy stuff."

Sango rolled her eyes, and then rolled over. "Pervert," she yawned, and drifted off. When he was sure she was really asleep, Miroku glanced up. A pair of golden eyes met his gaze, held it, and then looked away. The monk smiled in reply, nodded, and closed his eyes again, bowing his head in meditation.

High up in the tree, the hanyou smiled, and did the same, drifting off to real sleep for the first time in more than a week. He didn't need to thank the monk again. He knew that Miroku understood.


End file.
